


SQUALL DIES

by rapunzariccia



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Gen, more characters with additional chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 07:45:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3521132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rapunzariccia/pseuds/rapunzariccia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>this is the way the world ends. not with a bang, but with an ice strike to the chest while hundreds watch and cheer.</p><p>(or, "Squall Dies" is a really interesting theory and I wanted to try and write FF fic for the first time in forever)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A great rush of air, and then everything is very still.  
  
_What happened to the music?_ he thinks, and then, _Why am I so cold?_  
  
Then the world explodes.  
  
He remembers there being more music when they lead the assault. More music, and less screaming. _It's not very festive_ , he decides, and that's when he takes the first step back.  
  
Everything is, at once, very clear. He can _taste_ the ice when he breathes in - it's sharp, cold, doesn't feel at all like Shiva's magic, which he's become so accustomed to in such a short amount of time. The spells a GF casts have this raw feel to them, like the air in one's nostrils are being stripped bare and you're smelling the world properly for the very first time, and it makes your tongue tingle. Paramagic is just an extension of that. It's a buzzing in the skull that you can taste at the back of your throat and have to focus on pushing outward before you lose all sense of smell.  
  
The Sorceress' magic is something else entirely, and he can't place it. He takes another step backward - stumbles, even - and the movement has his eyes notice the way the flames at either side of her throne flicker, the shadows they cast over Seifer's dirty coat, the cat-like eyes of the witch who is staring _through_ him like he isn't even there. He draws another breath and hates the way it tastes.  
  
_"Squall!"_  
  
Without even noticing he's been forced backwards another step, and now there's nothing under his feet, nothing to stop him from following the momentum forcing him backward. The world's gone quiet again, replaced with a great rushing in his ears that he thinks might be blood.  
  
_"SQUALL!"_  
  
It's like he's falling in slow motion. He sees the top of Seifer's blonde hair, the gloved tips of the witch's fingers, the torchlight for a second longer and then he sees nothing but the golden arch above him. It's getting further and further away with every frantic heartbeat.  
  
And then a hand reaches out to him, and beyond that hand a face. _Rinoa_. Her mouth is moving like she's saying something, but her hand is as far away as the ceiling, and just as much use to him now. She bends like she's going to dive after him, but another figure stops her, one arm thrown around her shoulder until they blend into one indistinct person staring down at him.  
  
Another breath of sharp-tasting air, and the world swallows him up.


	2. Chapter 2

The dreamworld isn't much of a respite this time. He wakes on his back and stays that way. There's not much point in wasting energy sitting up, not when he recognises the uniform grey of the walls in a moment.  
  
"Welcome back," Quistis says to his left. She sounds like how he feels, a husk of her usual self. He wonders if she cried while he was sleeping. He wonders if _he'll_ cry, or get angry, or do anything than lay there and stare at the ceiling.  
  
"How's Laguna doing?" Selphie asks. She's definitely been crying. Zell keeps his eyes carefully trained upward to afford her a little bit of privacy.  
"Dunno. Didn't see him." he feels curiously numb, like this is just another day that he has to face. Like he didn't watch Squall fall into the smoke and fail to reappear. "Remember Ward? I was him. He's doing janitor work." he takes in a deep breath, holds it for a moment. "I think he was here."  
"Oh, well," Quistis says airily. He can see her face in his mind's eye, all raised eyebrows and thinned lips, the way she gets with sarcastic pupils. "That makes things a whole lot easier. We'll just wait for him to spring us out, we can ask the guards for our stuff, and we'll all go back home safe and sound."  
"Quisty, don't," Selphie sounds so miserable that it stops the rant from becoming a full-blown yelling match.  
  
The silence returns, and it is deafening. Zell feels like the air is holding his head in firm, hot hands. The touch threatens a headache, and he gets to his feet and starts to pace after he decides lying on the floor is unproductive. He looks once at Selphie, who is curled into a ball, knees against her chest, dried tears on her cheeks. He regrets looking at Quistis, whose lips are even more pursed than he could have imagined, and is sitting with all the rigidity of a queen.  
  
Bread comes to them in the hands of a furry red creature that licks Selphie's hand, but it shies away from her quivering touch and scampers out before they have a chance to do anything. They're bolted in again, and they each take a corner to themselves to eat in.  
  
When they wake the next day, nothing has changed. The guards come to run their batons against the door. The red creature brings them water with their bread. The heavy metal locks them into their cell, and the silence resumes.  
  
It's Zell who cracks first.  
  
"What are we going to do?" neither cellmate moves or makes to answer him. "Guys..."  
"What do you want me to say?" Quistis snaps. "That it's going to be alright? This is all a bad dream?" she slams her hand on the ground. The noise startles Selphie into staring. "That you'll be back at home in time for tea with your ma? It's not going to happen!"  
She's loud enough that their guard bashes his baton against their door.  
"Quiet in there," he yells.  
"That's not - no!" Zell snaps back. "You know what I meant!"  
"Yes, I do, and I fail to see how your inane questions could help the situation any. You know where we are, right? What about the definition of _political prisoner?_ You realise this is just a holding cell until they figure out what to do with us?"  
"Guys," Selphie whispers.  
"Of course I do!" Zell yells back. He's on his feet, which prompts Quistis to draw herself up to full height. She's taller than he is, and looks so furious that he almost flinches. Almost. "And I'm asking _you_ what to do about it!"  
" _I'm not going to do a god damn thing, and neither are you!"_  
"So tell me where _defeatism_ is in the SeeD handbook, because I fail to see how this is helping-"  
" _Helping?!_ I'm not some kind of miracle worker-"  
  
 _"Enough,_ " says a voice that doesn't belong to their party. People are filing in, shiny boots and rubber sticks ready to take care of them. "We'll give you somethin' to complain about, if you're set on makin' noise."


End file.
